Court opened the file he’d kept tucked under his notepad. He slid one of the crime-scene photos of Drummond’s body across the table. She glanced at it. Covered her mouth, turning away, shutting her eyes tight. “I don’t want to see it. I can’t look.”
Eccles put a hand on her wrist and leaned toward Court. “Detective, are you going to charge my client with anything?”
She was guilty of nothing more than lying about crossing the bridge. “No.”
Eccles nodded with a small smile. “Thought not. It’s time for us to leave.”
“You can’t leave yet.” Court needed to follow up on the man coming out of the building. He had intentionally taken the questions in a different direction to get her rattled. Sometimes thinking too hard about something made it more difficult to remember details.
“I believe we can.” Eccles stood. “Come on Audrey, I’ll drive you home.” He held out his arm to help her up from her chair. She looked back and forth between the two men, confused.
Court stood up. “We’re not done here yet. Sit back down, Mr. Eccles. We could charge Mrs. Drummond with obstructing justice for lying to us. However, you and I both know you would make the charge disappear in the blink of an eye. It would be more trouble than it’s worth to us. So, here’s the deal. Mrs. Drummond is going to spend the next couple of hours working with our forensics sketch artist. He’s going to have her sit down next to him and ask her a gazillion questions. And she’s going to answer every last goddamn one of them until we have a picture of the man who killed her husband.”
35
“Let’s hit Haubek after lunch.” The security company was south of the International District. Court was about to suggest lunch plans when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Agnes Mooring. “Ms. Mooring. You work fast.”
Ivy sidled up to him and he put the phone at an angle so they could both listen. He didn’t want this on speaker in the middle of the squad room.
“Well, Detective, like I said. I want to be of help. I am emailing you a spreadsheet. It will give you all the information you asked for, but I thought there was one thing worth calling about.”
Court’s heart quickened. “I’m listening.”
There was a brief pause, and Court could hear the rustle of papers. “You’ll find this on page four of my spreadsheet. But, what I found is three emails to different suppliers. Suppliers we have never worked with.”
“And…” Court prompted.
“The suppliers are all for the same product. Down.”
She said it with a grandiose finality as if it should mean something to Court.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not following you. He was looking for a new supplier of feathers? Why is this important?”
“Okay. Let me explain. We have several lines of products. Jackets, vests and sleeping bags. They’re all filled with eider down, proprietary blends of cotton or poly compounds. That kind of thing.
“We’ve been using the same provider of pure eider down for years. It’s a good-quality product, highly rated, and, at our last meeting, we confirmed we would continue with this supplier. There’s no reason for Mr. Drummond to be sending these kinds of inquiries out to new providers. And, he’s not copied anyone else on his inquiries.”
“Okay,” he said. This conversation was heading into uncomfortable territory.
“The current supplier is Yarong Industries. They provide Chinese down and ship out of Dalian, a northern Chinese port, but the queries that Berkeley was sending out were to Eastern European manufacturers. He was asking them very specific questions about production locations and their collecting practices. He wanted assurances there would be no Chinese or North Korean products of any kind in their shipping.”
“His email specifically specified North Korean products?” There was only one thing Court could think of that North Korea was exporting. And it wasn’t down.
“Yes. The emails were sent within an hour of his argument with Mr. Wu.”
“Do you think Mr. Drummond would have filled you in on this given the fact he was stepping back on his duties?”
“Well, he probably would have once he’d made a decision about it. My guess is he was killed before he’d come up with his solution. It would have been more in character to not say anything until he had his recommendation ready. I suspect he caught Mr. Wu doing something illegal behind his back.”
“Thank you, Ms. Mooring. I appreciate the call.” Court hung up and turned to Ivy. “Shit.”
“Drummond and Wu argue about some sort of smuggling. Then, Drummond starts searching for a new down source to cut out the illegal imports. Wu gets his toe cut off.” Ivy put her hands on her hips. “North Korea. He must have gotten something out of Wu to come out with that.”
“Meth is the big thing there, now, right?”
Ivy nodded. “Yeah. Supposedly the government destroyed all their official labs, to prove something or other to the U.S, but no one is buying it. We’ve been seeing a lot of it coming through Seattle the last couple years. It’s the best on the market.”
“You ever come across any from Colchuck Down? Heard of any connections there before?”
Ivy’s lips puckered, moving side to side. “No. I didn’t see anyone undercover at the factory earlier, did you?”
“No. Maybe Drummond stumbled onto something before we did?”
“You think the Triad would kill Drummond for closing down one avenue like that? It wasn’t likely to be a big source yet. Especially if no one in Vice was working anything there.”
“No. It’s not exactly their style. Cutting off Wu’s toe, I’d buy. A punishment for getting caught. But Wu wasn’t giving us the whole truth. Maybe Drummond threatened to go to the police.”
“That wouldn’t get him killed. It’s more likely the Triad would clean up all evidence at Colchuck and scoot. They aren’t exactly chomping at the bit to be noticed these days.”
“I’m with you on there. They’ve been keeping a low profile lately.”
“So, what’s next?”
Court pulled his coat back on. “Dim Sum.”
The Jade Dragon Seafood restaurant was nestled in between three other, more populated, Dim Sum restaurants. Court hoped to find Fang Zhao still working there. She was one of three survivors from the ill-fated Sino-Trans shipping container. They’d become close during the investigation, and she’d given him bits and pieces of information over the years since.
Lunch was in full swing with no less than four carts making their circuit around the room. The first stopped at their table, full of little bamboo baskets filled with steaming items, fragrant with delicately spiced pork and shrimp. The waitress automatically reached for the shu mai, but Court held up his hand and pointed to the sticky rice packaged neatly in lotus leaf, the fluffy white pork bao and the braised brown chicken feet.
She complied with the rice and buns. She shook her head, tapping the chicken feet. “You no like.”
He spoke to her in Chinese. She bowed before giving them a full plate of the delicacy before scribbling on their card and moving on.
“What did you say to her?” Ivy asked as she picked up a piece of the chicken with her chopsticks. She held it in the air, twirling it around skeptically, inspecting it from all angles.
“I asked her to please allow us to eat the ‘phoenix claws.’ They don’t call them ‘chicken feet’ when served like this. You can always gauge the quality of a Dim Sum place by this dish.” He picked one up, sucking at the first claw. The black bean sauce was tangy with a bit of a kick.
Ivy copied him. Court wasn’t a huge fan of chicken feet, no matter what they were called, but he always ordered them.
Ivy made a face, chewing experimentally. “You like these things?” She pulled the piece away from her mouth and inspecting it. “What is this?”
“It’s cartilage or tendon.” He scanned the room but didn’t see Fang. Her willingness to talk to the police had gone a long way with getting her green card. He liked to think his sponsors
hip hadn’t hurt, either. Fang meant “fragrant” in Chinese, but the connotations in English had been inspiration to the young woman. She had been barely eighteen when she was shoved into the shipping container bound for the United States. They were promised transportation out of China and jobs for a fee they could work off once they arrived. Fang had been one of the lucky ones. Her tenacity fit well with the American image she made for herself.
Ivy put her chicken back on her plate. “I’m sorry. I can’t eat that.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
“I think the flavor is okay. It’s the texture. I never liked fat or chewy things.” She unwrapped one of the lotus leaves and inspected the rice closely. “Is that little pieces of pork?”
“Oh, damn. I forgot you don’t eat pork. You can’t eat these buns either, can you? They’re filled with Chinese-style barbecue.”
“It’s okay. I think there are a few things coming around that I can eat.”
Several carts came by before Fang finally appeared. She’d cut her traditionally long hair into short spikes set in gel. Last time he’d seen her, she complained about her job requiring her to look presentable. She railed against the old-country customs that she had hoped to escape by coming to America. When she got to their table, she smiled and took dishes off her cart.
“Look what cat drag in. Good see you Jian-Heng.” She chided him. “This new partner?”
Ivy raised her chopsticks in greeting, snagging a dumpling out of the little bamboo steamer Fang had set in front of them once she’d confirmed it was stuffed with vegetables. “Jian-Heng?” she asked.
Fang smiled broadly. “His name too hard in mouth. I call him Jian-Heng. It mean he don’t let go. He like pit bull.” She mimicked biting the air, snapping bared teeth with a click. She bowed toward Court, smiling with obvious affection.
Court spoke quietly in rapid Mandarin while Fang marked their card. She reached over to snip one of the three sesame balls in half with her scissors as she replied. She marked their card and moved to the next table. A casual observer would only think she had served her customers.
Ivy leaned over her chili oil and soy sauce-covered plate. “Well?”
“I asked her what she could find out about any Triad links to shipments going into Colchuck Down. She’ll get back to me in a couple of days.”
“That was kind of tipping our hand, wasn’t it? You were so specific.”
Court sunk his teeth into the gooey exterior of the sweet treat, enjoying the subtle sweetness of the red bean paste. He had a momentary pang of concern. Fang had given him information before, but it had been more than a year since he’d done more than say hi and order Dim Sum. There was no telling who she was hanging with these days.
36
Haubek, Inc. was situated a few blocks north of Colchuck Down. Their general proximity to each other was all the two had in common. From the outside, the building looked like it was about ready to be condemned. The signage was minimal--a single foot-wide plaque next to the door. The street numbers were cheap little ancient gold-and-black decals lined up along the metal frame of the door. Haubek employees must only make house calls. One look at this dump and anyone would question the company’s credentials.
The light drizzle earlier in the day had become a steady, quiet rain. Court and Ivy dashed to the building, where Court pushed the glass door into the inner office open and held it for Ivy. He ran his hands over his head to sluice raindrops away.
The meager reception area was right out of the Seventies. Green vinyl chairs with fake wood armrests lined one wall opposite the desk centered in front of the back wall. A door to the left was labeled Private. Sitting at the desk, a youngish blonde blew a purple gum blob to its fullest potential before popping it and sucking the goo back into her mouth.
“Good afternoon. What can I do ya for?” She put down the bodice ripper she’d been reading. After they introduced themselves, the woman rose, a little flustered. “I’ll go get Mr. Walker. He’ll know what to do.” She teetered on too-high heels over to the door marked Private and disappeared inside.
Court peered at the book cover. “I wonder how much she gets paid to read things like Viking Love.”
“I can’t imagine she has much to do. This place is not set up for clients. It’s clear she didn’t know what to do when we walked in.”
“They say not to judge a book by its cover.”
The woman reappeared with a balding man who was maybe in his early forties.
He took two large steps as he approached them, keeping his arms linked behind his back rather than reaching out for the customary handshake. “I’m Leland Walker, owner of Haubek. I understand you’d like to talk to me?”
He pushed the private door open. Behind the door, an expansive workshop spread out, rows of tables were covered in wires and electronic equipment. It was surprisingly bright inside given the cloudy morning, but the roof was mostly skylights, and there were plenty of task lights around the floor. Technicians dressed in khaki pants and navy company polos occupied nearly all of the tables. Court paused at one where a tech installed a standard security camera inside a utility box. Next to him, another fit a miniature camera into a wall clock. At another workbench, workers inserted cameras into large ceramic penguin cookie jars. Nanny cams? Haubek certainly had a wide variety of products.
Large cubicles lined the workshop in a U-shape along three walls. This part of the building told a different story than the neglected exterior. It was clear that Haubek didn’t care about its outside image as long as the inside was kept state-of-the-art.
Walker led them into a corner conference room made of one-way glass on the interior walls. It afforded privacy for anyone in the conference room while allowing them to view the main floor. White boards covered with dry-erase marker drawings of squares, squiggles and equations lined the exterior walls.
Court and Ivy settled into chairs opposite Leland Walker, who dropped into a seat and placed his hands together on top of the table, the perfect picture of eager helpfulness.
Court opened his notebook. “We understand you installed the card-entry system at Allegiance Investments.”
Walker paused. “I’m not willing to disclose any customer information.”
Court wasn’t surprised. If Haubek took security seriously, Walker would be unwilling to talk freely about a customer. “We’re investigating a death, Mr. Walker.”
Walker leaned forward, eyes narrowing in concern. “Oh, that’s awful.”
“Mr. Walker, here’s the thing. Haubek installed the entry system at Allegiance Investments. Six weeks ago, a duplicate key shows up on the system without any history. Nothing on the log shows when it was created. We’re trying to piece together how this could work. We’re pretty sure Ms. Hunter, the owner, has no idea. She hasn’t even accessed her logs in over a year. What would it take to make a duplicate card key? What kind of technical expertise? What kind of access? What kind of hacker are we talking about here?”
Walker stood up and made a circuit around the table. Court swiveled in his seat to watch his progress. There was a nervous energy about the man he attributed to the weirdness of geek-genius types. Walker had the thin gawky physique he associated with those guys who were losers in high school but grew up to make it in the real world. A stereotype, sure, but Walker came across as someone who hadn’t completely outgrown his youth in spite of his receding hairline.
Walker stopped his pacing, facing them with hands on hips. “I’m afraid I can’t answer any of those questions. Or, rather, I’m unwilling to do so without the presence of an attorney.”
This didn’t come as a huge surprise. Who would want to willingly offer up a weak link in their product? Court placed the warrant he had brought with him flat on the table, smoothing out the fold lines one by one. He could have played it first, but sometimes people gave up more information than a warrant stipulated. Warrants had to be detailed and specific.
“I hoped you’d volunteer information, but her
e you go, Mr. Walker. We’ll wait while you collect the materials.”
Walker sighed heavily as he sat down, donning reading glasses. He read the warrant line by line, one of his long bony fingers tapping the table-top in a steady rhythm. He paused and examined Court over the rim of his glasses. “Why would you want the names of every client with the same system? That’s a little far-reaching, isn’t it?”
“We’re investigating anyone who might have had ties with Allegiance Investments, the victim and knowledge of this card-key system.”
Walker scowled as he read, his jaw working back and forth. At length, he folded the warrant into thirds, stowing it and his glasses in his shirt pocket. “Very well. I’ll be back. Make yourselves comfortable. It might be a while. I’ll have to have a chat with my attorney first.”
After he left, Court stood up and found a place at the window where he could watch the employees. The techs working the center tables were focused on what they were doing, but also had a good deal of interaction. The general atmosphere was one of congeniality. He pulled up the company website on his phone, flipping through their online products. The cookie-jar-turned-nanny-cam was motion activated, remote controlled, and sold for two hundred bucks. The clock sold for a hundred bucks but was limited to still shots, and the customer had to remove its memory card manually to retrieve the photos. A small figurine was being sold as a “granny-cam” and touted as being useful in ferreting out abusive nursing-home workers. The copy in all of the product descriptions had a similar fear-mongering tone. Haubek also sold products with cameras in flower vases, stuffed animals, and fake plants. Court wondered how many people were spying on loved ones. The inventory being put together in front of him would suggest it was a lot.
The company’s homepage described Haubek as one of the region’s largest and most reliable suppliers to the local security companies. Haubek manufactured the hardware, and worked with various companies to install systems, but did not supply monitoring services. Haubek was happy to supply equipment to businesses on an à la carte basis.
Bound to Die Page 19